


Return to Regrets

by HippyChick1964



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M, Torchwood - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 15:59:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5632513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HippyChick1964/pseuds/HippyChick1964
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Journey as a sorrowful Jack Harkness remembers a off-world cruise with Ianto Jones and what could have been had Jack had enough courage to let it happen.  Includes originally created characters, Rabbi Aliyah Teelbalum and her wife, Sarah, from Torchwood Tel Aviv, who try to convince a dejected, miserable Jack Harkness to return to Earth after the 456 murder the only real love he Jack had since . . . well, for a few decades.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return to Regrets

TORCHWOOD – Return to Regrets

Preface – Rescuing the Damned

__“Really, Jack!” said Rabbi Aliyah Teelbaum as she brushed the palm size roaches off her thick brown leather jacket and military khakis.  While her partner Sarah picked several from her curly shoulder length hair, Aliyah continued, “Couldn’t you have picked somewhere other than a bar in the middle of a rainforest to smother your guilt in alcohol?”  Sarah, thinking she had them all, found one more roach trying to wind its way into Aliyah’s left ear.  The nimble blond grabbed it in her thin, quick fingers and slapped it against the wall just missing the nonplussed bartender pretending to be drying a dirty shot glass._ _

__Jack Harkness was slouched over a sticky bar behind a half empty bottle of alcohol what, from the smell of it, could remove paint from a car.  The shot glass was drained and bone dry but his lip prints were still moist around the bottle’s mouth.  Next to it, an inch high stack of parchment, covered with desperate musings._ _

__“You look like hell,” Aliyah said trying to find the less sticky part of a stool to Jack’s right.  His filthy greatcoat was tossed, forgotten across the stool to his left.  Sarah just shook her head, choosing to simply stand behind to peer over her lover’s shoulder._ _

__“How did you find me?” Jack’s voice slurred less than what Aliyah anticipated._ _

__“The Doctor tracked you,” she answered pointing to the wristband device on Jack’s left arm.  “He added that feature with your last upgrade.”  She glanced over at his writings but at that angle she could only catch a few words before he snatched and stacked it in that neat manner one does to distract someone’s attention._ _

__“What do you want, Aliyah?” Jack growled, filling the glass with the turpentine-like substance._ _

__She sighed, brushed another wayward baby roach along with accompanying mud off her shoulder, “Gwen is worried.  She thought maybe I could track you when Martha’s efforts failed.”_ _

__“And how is UNITS’ best physician?” Jack said while pouring a large shot of rot gut._ _

__Aliyah raised an eyebrow, “She’s worried too but couldn’t get away and suggested Gwen call me.”_ _

__He sucked down the shot, shook his head to make the intoxicate cruise faster to his brain then reached to pour another when Sarah rapped his hand with a long riding stick.  He withdrew his hand back, “Ouch!  Damn Aliyah, call off your one woman army, will you?!”_ _

__Jack looked like he was going to throttle Sarah but the Nordic Amazon growled and he thought twice.  “Jack, you have to come back.  Gwen and Rhys cannot handle things alone, particularly now the baby is here,” Aliyah continued._ _

__“What did she have?”_ _

__“If you really cared, you would have been there to find out yourself instead of running from bar to sex planet wreaking havoc throughout this and several other galaxies.”  Aliyah had not meant to be that harsh but she and Sarah had traveled three days through kilometers of__ the planet Gwyrdd’s _ _forest to get to a bar that would have been closed had it stood in the most ragged of Earth’s third world nations.   Truth was though she was just as worried about him as Gwen and Martha.  He had run off before when he lost a loved one or reached another disappointment but he had never been gone this long and had never left word of his whereabouts with no one.  It even took The Doctor several weeks to track down Jack.__

__She paused a moment for emphasis, using a voice much like a therapist delivering a critical interpretation.  “Gwen was full of questions too,” Aliyah said.  “She found one of Ianto’s diaries and it mentioned your engagement.”_ _

__“There was no engagement!” insisted Jack._ _

__“I know,” she replied, a bit of pleading in her tone, “but Jack, when you two left Jerusalem  .  .  . you had the ring; you told me you were going to ask him once you got back to Cardiff.”_ _

__“YOU made that arrangement,” he looked away and tried to drain just one more drop from the empty shot glass, “I just agreed to shut both of you up.”_ _

__Jack should have remembered that despite being petite and having a tendency to come across as the Dali Lama’s Jewish sidekick, Aliyah Teelbaulm also was responsible for creating the street fighting martial art of Krav Maga and teaching it to the first officers of the Israeli Defense Forces.  Before he could say another word, Aliyah had him in a choke hold, faced down against the bar counter with his right arm uncomfortably gripped behind his back.  Sarah smiled, as she was never fond of Jack.  The bartender and handful of other patrons blinked._ _

__Aliyah leaned close, causing Jack’s arm up just a little bit more.  Her breath was like jagged glass against his ear, “Captain Harkness, you have forgotten yourself!”  Her voice made a soft scary whisper, finding someplace of cerebral sensibility, “You may not be working at the Time Agency now but I remain your superior officer, do we understand each other?”_ _

__“Yes,” was all he could get out._ _

__She let him go and stepped back, holding a fierce stance like Wyatt Earp at a gunfight.  Sarah snickered which momentarily distracted Jack while he rubbed his shoulder.  “For a mute, you make a lot of noise,” he whispered as if Aliyah couldn’t hear.  The Amazon rolled her eyes._ _

__Aliyah motioned Jack to a table in a more illuminated corner of the bar.  Grabbed the bottle and shot glass when Aliyah added, “Bring those papers you were writing.”  Jack decided not to argue with her as he was tired of fighting with everyone, including himself.  She then turned and sweetly requested from Sarah, “Get us some water and see if this place has something resembling food.”_ _

__If a man who regenerates could look haggard and bruised, Jack did.  In the light, she could see the scars of torment he had drawn across his face.  The drinking and carousing probably only made things worse, she thought, and she realized that he was in no shape to return to Torchwood.  He needed healing before he could even get close to Earth’s atmosphere._ _

__Shortly after getting to the table, Sarah brought two glasses and a bottle of what passed for water.  Aliyah smelled it and looked at Sarah questioningly.  Sarah shrugged her shoulders.  Water is defined differently depending on what planet one is on and Sarah communicated this using hand gestures._ _

__“Don’t you think you should teach her sign language?” asked Jack._ _

__“She knows it,” Aliyah took a tentative sip of the liquid, “but chooses only to use it with strangers.”  She took another swallow of the water, “You should drink this.  It isn’t half bad.”_ _

__“The roaches you just picked off your body breed in that water,” Jack said nonchalantly.  “It’s why most folk around here stick to booze.”  He toasted her with his shot glass._ _

__Aliyah spit out the water indecorously.  Jack gave a side grin.  She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and recomposed herself.  “What happened, Jack?”_ _

__“What do you mean, ‘what happened’?  I let the 456 kill Ianto, period.”_ _

__“I read the reports.  That’s not how it went.”  Her quiet, therapist voice returned, “And all those papers aren’t about one man’s death,” she pointed at the pile, “more likely they are about another man’s regret.”  Sarah returned with a bowl of what looked like tiny eggs.  “Don’t tell me.  Roach eggs?”_ _

__“Yep.  Since roaches are plentiful, it is the only food source around here.  The inhabitants never learned to cultivate anything else, besides the odd plant or two,” Jack popped a couple in his mouth.  After chewing, he added, “They’re actually quite good but sometimes the shells get stuck in my teeth. You got any floss?”   Sarah shook her head, gave the universal sign for barfing, and found a spot that gave her a good view of the bar to guard against anyone with less than kind intentions._ _

__Meanwhile, Aliyah pushed the bowl closer to Jack and pulled a pack of kosher beef jerky from her inside jacket pocket, “What happened, Jack? What changed your mind about marrying Ianto?”_ _

__He spit out a shell in a nearby spittoon, “As I told you, I had no intention of marrying him and that mission to__ Perturbatio _ _convinced me that that was in his best interest.”__

__“And yours?”_ _

__“No, just his,” he washed some more eggs down with water.  “If I was a different person, I would have married him a hundred times.”_ _

__“What are you going on about?” responded Aliyah.  “Jack Harkness, you’ve partnered with many people, creatures in one way or another.  What made marrying Ianto any different?”_ _

__Jack sighed and looked at the sheets of paper, “Here, read this.  I’m not sure I can go through it again.”  He pushed the pile toward her and stood up, “You’re right, as always, I gotta stop running.”  He took another drink, “I’m going to my room.  When you’re done, come get me.”  He turned on his heel and left through a squeaky side door._ _

__Sarah rushed over, gesturing wildly about Jack’s leaving.  “Don’t worry, honey,” Aliyah reassured her, “he’s not going anywhere.”  Aliyah pointed to the greatcoat still resting on the bar stool, “Sit down.  I’m figuring this is going to be one hell of a story.”_ _

**********************************

Chapter One:  The Gift

I know that I got her for him as a gift but I hadn’t anticipated my childish jealousy.   He seemed different with her than he has ever been with me or maybe I was just paying more attention this time.   Typically, I’m drunk or high on something during my threesomes.  And when I’m just shagging him, I’m too busy listening to those fantastic sounds he makes to see how he looks.  The intensity in his countenance as he massaged her asshole with his dick made me wonder if he enjoyed fucking me as much.  I don’t like to agree with my gay friends who say I turned him out.  I would like to think it was more than just bringing out some dormant curiosity.  G-d knows I’ve had enough of that tarnished shit.  Long ago, he hinted at deeper feelings and I uncharacteristically share more with him than with the others, even Gwen.   Yet nothing has ever been said, let alone confirmed.  But, that night, I nearly lost my mind as I watched my lover fuck his belated birthday present on a posh couch in the master suite of a luxury space cruiser.

We got here via Rabbi Aliyah.  She needed Torchwood Cardiff to stop a weapons shipment from coming through the rift in Jerusalem.  An alien group, called the Machla, planned to sell them to both Jewish and Arab radicals in the ongoing Palestinian-Israeli conflict, all before a critical Middle East summit.  Gwen couldn’t go with us – some family crisis.  It would take several days to reach our destination, __Familiaritas__ , on the planet __Perturbatio__ , so I figured this would be as good a time as any for Ianto and I to take a holiday.  I had forgotten his birthday after all and he had been kind about hiding his irritation (I read about my negligence in his diary, which he kindly left around for me.  He did this once in a while instead of nagging.  He knows I hate nagging but that I hate guilt even more).

I knew he’d have trouble with the travel via vortex manipulator.  Having your molecules deconstructed, shifted through space-time and reconstructed is difficult for the naïve.  But he took it like a trooper and didn’t break my fingers while holding my hand - I was quite proud of him.  And I wanted to show him a good time before we inevitably returned to the reality that is the life of a Torchwood agent.  His “present” had three parts: one, being able to design the most fabulous suits imaginable; two, watching me wear the most fabulous suit imaginable; and a night with one of the sexiest species of baristas in the galaxy.   

While Ianto packed for our voyage, I was hard at work arranging our travel tickets so that by the time we arrived at the dock of the __UFG Curiosus Meretricis__ , I had nearly everything in place the way I wanted.  The United Federation of Galaxy space cruisers rival anything found on a tourist boat on Earth – they have the sophistication of a turn of the 20th Century ocean liner (without lower decks stocked with poor immigrants seeking a new life) and the practicality of a pleasure planet.  Tickets aren’t cheap and the arrangements specs were very detailed.  Luckily Torchwood has deep pockets and my winning smile charmed the agent into giving us an upgrade, which included our barista friend and access to the ship’s master tailor.

When we arrived inside the ship, Ianto was like an 80s Japanese tourist in Times Square.  He tried not to gawk but was sadly unsuccessful.  He was used to shooting aliens, rarely walking next to them on a promenade deck.   I stifled my laughter when his jaw dropped at the sight of a __Dryloyw__ couple, from the planet __Trisuns__.  Their highly delicate skin is translucent to reflect the powerful ultraviolet rays of their three suns.  They don’t wear clothes, just an electrically charged drape that acts like a force field.  They are a combination of the angry guy in the game “Operation” and a plastic model from a kid’s physiology kit.  To avoid a problem, I decided to immediately guide Ianto to our destination - a crowded bar - where his stares wouldn’t get us into any trouble and his present awaited him.

I told him of __The Narwhal's Cup__ ’s reputation as having some of best coffee this side of the Milky Way and how the __Trapsburians__ came to have their recipes.  Ianto loved the intoxicating blend, as I knew he would, but he was hardly paying attention to my culinary history lesson.  What he didn’t know was the bar sold flesh as well as hallucinogenic espresso.  The baristas, __Kihobi__ , who are minority members of the planet, could be “rented” for an hour, an evening, or at day rates.  All are independent operators however – you don’t choose them, they choose you and by the looks of it, many were choosing my Ianto.   His eyes fondled many of the female baristas but I’m not sure if he noticed several of the male workers were ogling him too. The _ _Kihobi__ are humanoids in varying skin shades with leopard like spots typically running from the back of their ears, down their body with some ending at their genitals and others spots going to their feet.  The women are genuinely rubenesque, short but muscular, while the males are more like Olympic track athletes, lean with tight bodies.   They are an extremely sexually charged people and do this work as much for the money as for the action.  The males capable of multiple organisms, a fact I knew from experience as one of them had the audacity of outlasting me during a particularly long mission to the outer reaches of some galaxy (wonder whatever happened to him?  At least I think it was a him . . .).

Ianto took a rather large gulp of his second cup and I knew I needed to get him out of there and to the cabin before the buzz that was about to hit him knocked him out and he couldn’t enjoy what I had planned.  The barista named Chimia left her card atop our check, as was the custom, with the number two written on it, meaning she was interested in having both of us – quite an honor.  Initially, I hadn’t considered participating (I still had some intel to go through as we were on a mission after all) but I’ll get to that later.  I gave her our room card with the number two next the word “evening”, indicating that an agreement had been reached.  I dare not say how much I paid for the night but let’s just say Ianto is an expensive lover.  The funniest part is that I caught an irritated look on his face – I think he believed I was hitting on her!  This was going to be funny.

Going to the cabin, changed Ianto’s continence.  I’m sure he had a good time describing it in his diary.  It was the executive suite, the largest on the ship.  It was more like a medium size apartment than a flying hotel.  I picked this room not only because it was the best they had but it reminded me of Ianto’s flat – something a refined gentleman would love - and I knew he would feel right at home in it.   His eyes wide open like a kid in on Christmas, he caressed the fabrics and furniture textures to feel the quality. 

“Brilliant!” he exclaimed.

“I knew you’d like it,” I said after giving him a big kiss on the forehead.  “Loosen your tie, Ianto,” I continued.  “When I told you this was part vacation, I meant it.”  It was time for me to make my exit, as his gift was about to arrive, “I’m going put a call into Aliyah, let her know we are on our way and see if she has our cover situated.”  I took a beer from the mini bar after dropping my greatcoat on the sofa.  As I moved to the communication’s room, there came a knock at the door.  I tried to act nonchalant but I was suddenly feeling a bit irritable, “Answer that, will ya.”

I did pull up Aliyah’s communiqué and maybe glanced at the computer screen once or twice but I positioned myself so I could see everything above the computer screen through the room’s glass divider.  If curiosity killed the cat, I was about to scratch myself to death.

There is a control box in this room and I used it to dim the lights, not like those two noticed.  Chimia wasn’t in the living room more than two seconds before both of them were naked.  Well, she didn’t have much clothing on to begin with.  Her skin was soft and slightly illuminated like shimmering water kissed by moonlight.  Against her, his white skin looked creamy, like it was melting against hers.  His hands were massaging her ass and pulling her even closer, up and over his dick as they both fell on the couch.  He directed everything, moving her body where he wanted to, demanding maximum gratification.  He seemed to measure his success by the sounds he got outta her.  We were luckily the room was sound proof.  

The scene was so exciting I dropped the pretense of doing work.  I stood and took in the action directly.  And as amazing as it was, as much as my dick was pressing against my pants, I was fuming.

 I had never seen Ianto so lustful.  This wasn’t loving this was pure fucking.  Admittedly, this was fueled by hallucinogenic coffee but, as the old saying goes, “A drunk man says what a sober man feels”. 

Sex between Ianto and I ****is**** good, very good.  He is adventurous, considerate and fun.  He “takes” and “gives” as the moment fits us – we role play and play at roles.  I don’t have any complaints, or at least I didn’t until now.  Well, maybe not a complaint just an observation.  Watching him lick the side of Chimia’s neck then hear her moan loud as he bite it like he could teach a class to vampires made me realize something – he was fucking me like he fucked his old girlfriend, Lisa.  Damn, had we already turned into two old fags?  And me, still this young and good looking?

I shook myself.  This was his present and I shouldn’t be so selfish, so self-absorbed . . . I really did have work to do anyway.  I sat back down and I tried to move back to Aliyah’s email.  When Chimia’s moans increased in frequency and got more guttural, I decided to turn on some music.  Bad idea.

__Oh, baby now let's get down tonight_ _

__

__Ooh baby, I'm hot just like an oven_ _

__I need some lovin'_ _

__And baby, I can't hold it much longer_ _

__It's getting stronger and stronger_ _

__

Shit! Outdone again by Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing”.  The 80’s were going to haunt me more than once this episode but I’m getting ahead of myself.

__And when I get that feeling_ _

__I want sexual healing_ _

__Sexual healing, oh baby_ _

__Makes me feel so fine_ _

__

__Helps to relieve my mind_ _

__Sexual healing baby, is good for me_ _

__Sexual healing is something that's good for me_ _

Fuck it.  I could taste Chimia’s pussy juices in the air.  Fuck it.  Those sounds were so deep and rich, I just knew her clit was hard and fierce as a sword in battle.  I needed to just taste.  No, not just taste.  I wanted to see what other noises she could make if I introduced another element to the dish. 

I took off my clothes, approached them on the couch, and kneeled close.  Faced outward and leaning against his chest, Chimia’s pussy was pushed forward and Ianto moved her hips rhythmically, steadily as his dick seduced her ass.  I moved in on the pointed tip of her clit like a surfer catching a wave.  I alternated between the flat then tip of my tongue, keeping her off-guard and edgy.  Soon she was moving her hips toward my mouth which shifted and raised the tension in her ass.  This made Ianto’s cock rock hard and when I thought both of them were about to come, I abruptly withdrew my attentions, smiling as I sat back on my heels, her juices dripping down my chin.  I wiped it with the back of my wrist, then directed the two of them to, “Come here.”

Ianto’s dreamy eyes opened just enough to appreciate my instructions.  He slid down slightly which offered more of Chimia’s pussy for me.  I stood and stroked my member, turning my head slightly to the side while staring directly into Chimia’s cat eyes.  Most women would have been frightened but this was a __Kihobi__ – these females are fierce and like their sex hard and extreme.  I could see the squirt drizzle down, lubricating Ianto’s dick.

I don’t think Ianto noticed the change until I fully entered her pussy.  I let out a moan as I felt the tightness of her stretched cunt enveloped my cock and felt his dick nearby.  Madness.  Creamy smoothness with a tense friction in the background – could sex get any better?  Yes, it was going to get better soon but for right now, I had to finish something before I could get something else started.  I learned from a yogi master once that long thrusts matching an exact 4/4 music beat, dipping in just a bit deeper every other thrust, for the exactly 4 minutes will give a woman an organism for which she will not recover but will keep the male from cumming or cumming too quickly, depending on the abilities of the male.  Coincidentally, this timing matches that of the musical interlude in Pink Floyd’s song __Pigs (Three Different Ones)__ , written about a woman, Mary Whitehouse, who wanted to restrict the amount of sex shown on the telly.   It was playing right now:

__Hey you, Whitehouse_ _

__Ha, ha, charade you are_ _

__You house proud town mouse_ _

__Ha, ha, charade you are_ _

__You're trying to keep our feelings off the street_ _

__You're nearly a real treat_ _

__All tight lips and cold feet_ _

__And do you feel abused?_ _

__You got to stem the evil tide_ _

__And keep it all on the inside_ _

__Mary you're nearly a treat_ _

__Mary you're nearly a treat_ _

__But you're really a cry_ _

 

I don’t know who’s the genius, the swami, Roger Waters, or me, but that was some explosion.  I drove Chimia’s music to complete exhaustion and she bucked off Ianto, rolled over, and curled up into quivering, panting ball on the carpet.  She smiled up at me and nodded something like, “Nice job.”  A few minutes later, she unsteadily sat up and gave me a peck on the cheek, like a little girl would her daddy.

My Ianto, on the other hand, had a silly smile on his face - still legs still spread eagle with half his ass off the couch and his dick standing straighter than a marine at 5am reverie.  His face reflected his intoxicated state.  The high was really hitting him now and I could see he was no way near down but confused, asking himself, “How do I move my legs again?”  As I helped him to his feet, I heard the door open then click closed.   That Chimia was a credit to her race, nicely subtle.

Now it’s back to me . . . .

****************************************

__Sarah made a gesture best translated as “Really?”_ _

__Aliyah shrugged her shoulders, “It’s Jack.  What can I say?”  She reshuffled the loose pages.  Sarah had return from her lookout post at the bar when the last customer left.  She decided she could see just as well from where Aliyah was sitting and she liked being close to Aliyah.  Sarah read pages as Aliyah finished them, eyeing the bartender and the door in-between as he continued to dry the same dirty glass._ _

__Sarah pointed at the previous page and gestured, “Why?”_ _

__“Sorry, but yes, it does arouse me,” answered Aliyah, “and this is likely the best part!”  She leaned provocatively close to Sarah then said, “And won’t you be the lucky one for it, later.”_ _

__A big grin slowly crossed the blonde Amazon’s face._ _

*****************************************

Chapter Two: Something Old leads to Something New and Scary

I shouldn’t let him have so much coffee, as I doubt he would have remembered this bit.  But then again, I had a barely unconscious, ulterior motive.

“Did you have a good time?” I asked with more than just a little sarcasm.

“What?” he slurred slightly.

“Hmmm,” as I helped guide him to the bedroom.  “Rather lusty aren’t we?”

“The royal we is quite pleased, thank you,” he saluted mockingly once we reached the room.

There is something strange about having an argument when one is naked.  Somehow it just seems wrong.  I walked away and pulled some red shorts from one of the suitcases.  While I was clumsily put them on, I saw him watching me curiously from the corner of my eye. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked.  He paused a moment then it seemed to dismiss the obvious.  “Being jealous is my department,” he said almost absent-mindedly.   

He had a point there.  “I’ve never seen you with anyone before.”

He came over and pushed me out of the way.  “Ah,” he said as he started taking clothes out of the same suitcase and properly rearranged them in the dresser.  If someone had walked in, they would have found it quite absurd scene – a naked, fully erect man carefully storing clothes in a dresser.

“Ianto?”

“Ah, uh,” the Welshman replied blandly, moving on to the next suitcase.

Most people who ingest hallucinogens want to sit back and watch the colorful creatures dance across the ceiling.  Not Ianto Jones.  He remains his usual OCD self even while high - anxious to put things away properly, afraid I’ll wrinkle something or another if not for his intercession.  “Did you have a good time though?”

He turned and looked straight at me.  With some of my suspenders in his left hand and some of his ties draped over his right arm, he gestured wide, emphasizing that his penis was still erect and glistening from being inside Chimia.  “Does it look like there was a problem?”  He turned around, shook his head, and returned to unpacking.

I stared at him for a moment, deciding whether or not to take the chance of asking what I really wanted to know, “It’s just that I’ve never seen you so, . . . fiercefully lustful.”

He momentarily stopped what he was doing, stood up straight.  I thought at first it was because he’d put something in the wrong drawer.  He declared, “Fiercefully isn’t a word.”  He returned to his tasks but continued, “It’s been a while since I slept with a woman.  It felt good.”

Then, as abruptly as he started, he stopped unpacking.  It was like flipping a light switch – as if he realized something that had before escaped him.  He dropped some ties on the floor, walked over to me, seemingly more erect (if such is possible) than before, and, grabbing the back of my head, and kissed me like a thirsty man on a desert oasis.   It was a desperate, demanding kiss.  Then, while still possessively holding the back of my head, he pulled away, panting roughly with eyes a hungry rich brown haze.  “You want ‘fiercefully lusty’?” Ianto sneered.  “Why am I always the one who has to prove something, eh?” He pulled my hair so that my neck was exposed then began alternating between biting and kissing the area just below my ear.  I found myself leaning into his mouth, my body begging for more and moans flowing out from somewhere, someplace I’d forgotten existed. 

Then, his lips abandoned that magical spot on my neck and the cooler air caught the moisture against my skin making my entire body shiver.  My knees nearly buckled under me, and he grabbed my ass to steady me even closer to him.  He brought his lips above my ear again and whispered, “I don’t know what you’re playing at Jack Harkness but whatever it is, it’s working.”  Then he bit me, hard, and ignited my dick even more.  Damn, if I didn’t regenerate, that bite would have left one hellva a beautiful branding.

I tried to say something back, maybe a false plea of innocence, when he pushed me on the bed.  I wasn’t going to fall backwards alone, so I pulled him down with me.  Falling on top of me in a slightly uncomfortable bouncy crash, made us both laugh uproariously.  “Yes,” I finally said, “because this was coming dangerously close to becoming a bad melodrama.”  He laughed some more and rolled off of me.

Once the laughter finally died down, I sat up on my arm and looked at him.  He had his hands over his head with his fingers interlocked, his eyes lightly closed.  “Next time,” he started, “keep me at one cup of that stuff.”

“Don’t worry.  The hangover isn’t bad.  And you’ll sleep like the dead.”   He opened one eye and frowned at me. “Sorry, bad analogy,” I said.  He resumed his position. 

“That’s not it.”  He pointed at his still erect penis, “I feel like a side effect in a Viagra commercial.”

I leaned over and gave him that side glance, “I think I can take care of that!”

I would have moved further, but he reached up and touched my face, gently this time.  He just wanted to get my attention, not stop me.  “Don’t get me wrong.  I still like women.”  He opened his eyes, looking somewhere beyond me, “But I ****love**** you.”

I would have blown that statement off – many have said those very words to me, some meaning it and others thinking doing so would keep me.  But clearly Ianto wasn’t saying this for me as much as he was making a declaration to the universe.  I just happened to be in the room.  Later, all the while he ardently sucked my cock and I his, the plain sincerity of his declaration sunk in low, breaching the dark coal crust around my soul.  An hour later, while he slept quietly cuddled against me, soft snores of satisfaction echoing from all over his body, I whispered, “Did you mean it, Ianto?”, as if expecting him to answer back.  My eyes watering, I continued, “I’ve done bad things, Ianto, real bad things . . . things a man ****should**** be ashamed of.  If I told you those things, would you still say ****that****?  Would you still feel the same?”  He groaned and shifted in my arms.  I pulled him closer, wondering how I got so lucky.

*********************************

Chapter Three: Dancing in the Stars

As I predicted, he didn’t remember what he said in the morning (or just chose to say nothing about it) but he did have a splitting headache.  And after giving him a cure, things seemed to return to their previous light-heartedness – a place I was more than comfortable with anyway.  We took a call from Aliyah, who had more intel about our target and I was ready to get to work.  Ianto, not realizing that although the high from the coffee was gone, some of the effects were still lingering, had other ideas.  Somehow (???) he convinced me to rumble in the bed a bit longer.  Two hours later, we finally emerged from the sheets.  I showered and dressed first.  While he was in the shower, I scribbled a note and left it for him atop of his neatly piled clothes on the bed.  He’d be a bit miffed but he’d get over it.

I returned to __The Narwhal's Cup,__ correctly surmising that I would find Chimia again.  She was just about to come on shift and, much to the chagrin of the other baristas (as well as bartenders), bounced over as soon as she saw me.  I used a combination of hand gestures and a few words to negotiate a new deal.  We needed more than just a couple of suits to maintain this cover.  __Familiaritas__ was an old style gangster town and no self-respecting pimp traveled its streets without a guard on one side and a whore on his arm.  I figured Chimia was perfect and, despite the danger which I tried to clearly describe, she agreed to the job.  The fact that she made Ianto harder than a rock wasn’t a bad side benefit.  I wish I could have brought this lady back to Torchwood – Gwen would have had a cow!

Now it was Ianto who was having the cow.  Not only was I late, I had Chimia on my arm and he naturally assumed she was the reason I was late.  Really, Ianto?  My dick was sore as hell and my balls were raisins in the sun – well, at least for a little while.  Monsieur Rainier, whose real name was John Martin, didn’t make things any better by flirting with me shamelessly.  I decided to let Ianto handle this part all by himself and didn’t tell him I knew “Rainier” from my past.  The Doctor and I saved the slight, effeminate, homeless teen from a john who was about to shoot him when he discovered the youth had stolen his watch.  We felt sorry for the lad, knowing that in 1920s slums of New York City a gay man was likely to end up beaten to death or hanged.  I convinced The Doctor to take him in, as he was always taking in strays who passed the TARDIS (myself included).   But Martin’s soul was not vested in saving the universe, so we deposited him on a friendly planet.  He learned the trade and now traveled on board luxury ships such as this one, as a master tailor. 

I correctly reckoned the finery would get me out of the doghouse.  Ianto’s chutney green and mustard pin-stripe yellow Edwardian Teddy boy looked fabulous on him and I could tell he felt like a million pounds wearing it.  He was also proud of how well the royal blue zoot suit matched my eyes.  Even Chimia’s wide rimmed brown Teddygirl skirt and creamy, tight cashmere sweater made him rethink the idea of her coming along (her kiss on his cheek didn’t seem to hurt either).  I hadn’t seen him this excited since Toshiko bought him that Zojirushi portable, thermal coffee pot.  On away missions, we never went without good coffee again.  He loved that thing.  He should of thought of saving it and not me when the Hub blew up.

I suggested we get some rest before the ship landed but Chimia had brought a stash of coffee which gave Ianto other ideas . . . .

**********************************

__Sarah rolled her eyes and signed, “Not more sex!” then gestured a dick falling off._ _

__Aliyah laughed, “Honey, face it.   Jack is nothing if not a narcissistic exhibitionist with an unquenchable libido.”  She looked through the next few pages, “Here, this starts when they landed.”_ _

********************************

I didn’t like this Khatara B’gidah from the beginning.  He was too anxious to get us to come along.  When they grabbed Ianto in the club, I was certain the ghoulish man was involved.   However, I have to credit Chimia for finding Ianto.  I had no idea that the spots and cat eyes were really outward signs of the historical feline heritage.   When Ianto fell into a coma and we waited for Martha to arrive, I talked with Chimia and realized Gregory Maguire quite accurately described the __Kihobi’s__ home world in his book “Wicked”, where animals and humans talked together and there was more than a fair share of “co-mingling” between the two.  That book always made me wonder where he got his research.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

We followed his scent from the club, several kilometers through the streets of __Familiaritas__.  We eventually found him in a darken warehouse just outside of town.  I shot several guards as they approached a cell I correctly guessed held my partner.  Samonson escaped but I’ll get back to that later.  Ianto was lying on the floor with several broken ribs and a bad pallor to his skin.  Ribs can heal and bruises go away but this skin tone worried me. 

We found a new hotel in a different area to allow time for Ianto to heal and me to contact Aliyah.  Chimia tended to Ianto expertly, applying some of her homespun medicine to his wounds.  He slept in a coma like state for days.  So, when she came to me and said, “The Ianto Jones does not smell right and sleeps too hard,” I had to take it seriously (the __Kihobi__ are also __conlangers__ (maybe co-langers) and thus acquire languages quickly – useful in their line of work).  I took to sitting with him – well, it was more like pacing; easy for a man who doesn’t have to sleep to do.  But each minute I did this, the more angry and frightened I got.  I’d already lost Tosh and Owen.  This wasn’t going to happen again, not to him.

“The Captain Jack needs rest,” said Chimia when she came to the room once to check on Ianto. She had changed and was now dressed in a more conservative pair of black slacks and white top.  “Worry only make the Ianto Jones worse – bad energy.”  She put the tray she was carrying on the nightstand and waved a lite batch of what smelled like sage throughout the room.  After walking throughout the room in some ancient cleansing ritual, she put the herb batch on a plate and proceeded to push me out of the way.  “Must give care to the Ianto Jones.  The Captain Jack go away.”  I reluctantly stood back to let her at Ianto.  Her work with him reminded me of the nurses during the Great War, bringing what little comfort they could to young boys who had just lost a leg or an eye and were crying out for their mums.

I must have looked pretty pathetic myself because she said, “The Captain Jack loves the Ianto Jones.”  She turned back and while changing the bandages of my groggy, nearly unconscious partner continued, “With my people, many men love men.”  She got up and pushed me out the room, “Love feelings not fear now.  Go!  Get rid of your fear.”  A good idea.

I needed something to do so I returned to the scene.  My brief surveillance of the warehouse where we found Ianto was successful.  The warehouse where Ianto was held was empty when I arrived.  Whatever weaponry work they were doing there was gone traceless also.  Luckily though, Khatara came back too.  Nabbing Khatara was a simple matter of my pointing the Webley to the back of his head.  “Please,” I growled, “just give me a reason to blow your head off.” 

“Don’t hurt me!” he cried.  “I didn’t do anything.  I would never betray Lady Teelbalum.” 

I grabbed him around the neck, “Really?  Then how come our cover was blown and my friend has been lying nearly unconscious for days on end?”

“Okay, okay.  They forced me to do it!” he cried louder as my grip on his neck tightened.  “They were the ones who poisoned him, not me.”

“What do you mean?”

“They probably gave him that new weapon their working on,” he could barely breathe and kept looking at the gun from the corner of his eye.  “I don’t know what it is but I overheard them say it’s gonna eat his insides.” 

I groaned.  I wanted to kill him and leave him there but decided he may have more information that could help cure Ianto.  With the gun to his back, I escorted him to our hotel room.  Soon after I arrived, Chimia tied Khartara to a chair (Damn that woman’s got talents!) while I called Dr. Martha Jones at UNIT.  I hated to do it but I knew she was vacationing nearby and would come if I called her saying Ianto was in trouble.

Ianto woke after I started torturing Khatara.  He seemed fine and the bruises as well as the ribs healed with her wrapping salve but Chimia was correct, he still didn’t smell right.  He did not notice the difference, only complained that he was still tired and had some tingling in his extremities.  We lied to him and attributed the exhaustion to the “medication” was Chimia giving him.  Ianto tried to help with the interrogation but I encouraged him to return to bed.  Chimia and I decided not to worry him by disclosing his condition, as we didn’t know its full extent.  Better to wait for Martha to arrive and let her examine him closely.

Luckily Martha came quickly.  She examined the blood samples I managed to pull from Ianto while he was sleeping.  After running them through tests using a portable lab she kept in her black bag, her face became grim.  She pulled Chimia and I into the hallway outside the room after giving Ianto a sedative.  “That guy is right.  It’s some artificial virus that works at the cellular level and it’s eating Ianto insides and moving toward his organs quickly.  Jack, I need more information on these nano-bits if I’m going to stop them from overwhelming Ianto’s system.”  I nodded.  Looking at Chimia, Martha said, “Whatever you’re using, it’s slowed the virus down a great deal.  You may have saved his life.” 

Chimia smiled proudly, “The Ianto Jones important to the Captain Jack.”

Martha nodded tentatively, “I’ll have to get the recipe sometime.”  She turned back to me, “I think I can stop it but I don’t have the equipment here.  I want to take him back to Earth – I have an emergency shuttle nearby.”

“Aliyah’s Torchwood has a full medical unit and I would feel better if he was there,” I said.

“Good,” Martha said.  “We’ll leave immediately.  My shuttle is at the dock not far from here.  Chimia, can you help me get him there?”

Chimia affirmed this but before she reentered the room, she stopped and asked, “Weapons go to that place, right?”

“Not now they won’t.” I replied.

*********************************

Chapter Four: No Rest for the Wicked

I have to admit there are times when I like killing people.  This is one of those times.  You see, despite what you’ve heard, I’m a rather simple creature – don’t fuck with my friends, the Earth, or me and we will get along just fine.  Ah did I say, I like lots of hypervodka and sex??? Mmmm, but I digress . . . .

Finding Samonson and his __Machla__ minions was not as easy as I thought it would be.  Then there was getting additional information on the weapons, which may help Martha save Ianto’s life.  Then, I had to stop the weapons from reaching Earth and kill Samonson without drawing attention of the natives who didn’t take kindly to murder, unless it was pre-registered with the government Ministry of Personal Revenge – that shit could take months.  Oh, yeah, I had to rescue Khartara’s daughter.  Just another day at the office.

I was also uncomfortable relying so much on Khatara.  Aliyah had planted him within the Machla years earlier.  When rumors reached her spies of several contacts between the Machla and the Palestinian group, Hamas, alarm bells rang throughout the Israeli government. But when intel surfaced of similar conversations with a radical Jewish settlers group, those bells turned into sirens.  Khatara seemed an unlikely spy on the surface, timid and wholly unassuming, but his job was simply to listen and confer information and as a lowly biomechanical engineer working in the senior Machla production planet, he was in a good spot to hear a lot.

But things went wrong when Khatara’s vice, gambling, brought unwarranted attention to the seemingly insignificant worker bee.  The Machla are strict __Aleanecs__ , capitalists who abhor gambling of any kind – as money is considered sacred, forbidding the practice amongst their peoples and any of their “employees”.  His home was raided.  There the guards found not only gambling receipts and computer transactions, but the communiqués with Aliyah’s people.  His wife was shot in the head when she tried to stop them from raping their 17-year-old daughter, Abeer.   It was then that Khatara, fearful that they would do more than just rape the girl, agreed to give us up in exchange for the girl’s freedom – he knew his life was over.  They held the girl hostage as collateral until they were done with us.  Luckily, Aliyah never told Khartara the true nature of our mission; he was told we represented a rival group, a third column so to speak, who wanted in on the game.  Ianto’s kidnapping was an attempt to get information.  When my brave partner didn’t give anything up, Samonson decided to use him as part of the final experiments on his new bio-weapon.

Chima and I sat in an open-air café in what passed for an indoor bazaar just outside of town.  Places like this are called “dollar stores” in America and this one was packed with what looked like similar clientele.  No high end here and Ianto would be ashamed of me for drinking the lukewarm concoction Chimia said they called “coffee substitute” (other folks call it Sanka).   I was staring at the electronics stand but must have looked far away.

“The Doctor Martha will save the Ianto Jones and the Captain Jack will save the Earth world,” Chimia declared.  She rested her bejeweled hand on mine as encouragement.  Chimia insisted on helping, saying reverently, “The Ianto Jones is noble man.  He beaten and not talk.”  She was back in her whore’s outfit to assure that we blended in but I didn’t have the heart to put the zoot suit on and returned to my greatcoat and suspenders.  “We kill the evil ones and then Chimia go back to her coffees,” she said turning her nose up at the drab mixture that had been served to us.

I gave her one my reassuring grins acknowledging her confidence and concern.  But inside, I was worried.  This manhunt had already taken three days and we still had no hint of Samonson’s whereabouts.   And I hadn’t heard anything from Martha.  I wasn’t even certain they got to Aliyah alright or that Ianto was still alive.

We had an unobtrusive view of the electronics stand where Khatara chatted up the blind retailer.  The bloke was Machla.  The shop served as an employment recruitment office and a money laundering front – all quite mundane gangster stuff.  Khatara’s excuse for hanging around there was looking for his next placement since the warehouse was closed.  This kept the retailer from being suspicious.  According to Khatara, there was a weekly “exchange” involving Samonson’s lead bagman, Infinita Dolor.   Dolor would come to the shop to pick up laborers and cash.  If we were going to have a chance of catching up with the elusive leader, it was by following this man back to the leader’s encampment.

“Why Khatara not know weapon?” Chimia asked.

“He only worked in one section,” I answered, grateful the lovely minx was trying to keep my mind focused.  “The Machla only have their people work on the development sections.  They leave the last bits to hired hands.”  I started to drink a fresh batch of the barely editable concoction, left by the greasy waitress with the cigarette dangling from her mouth but decided against it.  “Khatara worked in the plant that conducted the final assemble before testing.”

Just then, things finally got interesting.  Dolor arrived with three goons who could have been his cousins or brothers due to inbreeding.  Dolor looked like a baboon on steroids and his companions resembled Neanderthals from the next village over.   Hopefully, their smallish head size implied possible retardation.

I turned up the listening device we had planted on Khatara’s lapel.  “Samonson is looking for you.”

“Okay,” squeaked the timid man.  “Is my daughter okay?”

“Shut up!” commanded the giant.  “You come with me and find out.”  He grabbed the two sacks in his large paws of what was probably gold or some other precious metal that served as currency while one goon shoved Khatara toward the exit at the far in the bazaar arena. The other two surveyed the area to insure they weren’t being followed.  Too late – Chimia and I had already melted into the shopping conflux.

Like any big city throughout the galaxies, off the tourist areas, there were dingy streets that don’t grace the covers of travelogues.  And like most overcrowded areas, the poor wander the streets aimlessly, looking for any form of drama to awaken the dull droll of a meaningless existence.  In __Familiaritas__ , the back streets were narrow mud pits where it was easy to become a nodule in a filmmaker’s crowd shot. That and the daylight made trailing easy.  Having a GPS marker on Khartara helped too.

They took a sharp turn and I stopped abruptly and watched Khartara’s blip on the PDA continue moving, then stop some ¾ of a kilometer away.  “Why we stop?” Chimia asked.

“Heroes tend to wait until nightfall for their impossible rescues,” I noted slightly sarcastically.  “If we are going to have any hope in hell of getting away with all of this, we need some element of surprise.”  I wanted to return to the hotel and think out a plan, too much was riding on my actions for me to rely on my usual cowboy behavior.  Ianto could die.

Once back in the room, I checked the computer.  Martha had sent a message: they had made it back to Aliyah’s safe and she was close to a cure for Ianto.  She said nothing about his condition and likely wouldn’t unless he was dead – some comfort, I guess.  I sent one back, “Things okay.  Chimia and I are close.” 

While leaning back in my chair trying to compose a plan, there came a knock on the door.  I stood up immediately and drew my Webley.  Chimia wiggled her way to the door, ignoring my urgent whispers to move aside.   She opened the door. 

“Halt!” I shouted uselessly.  Into the room poured an endless number of __Kihobi__ , some of whom I recognized from the ship’s café.   A handful who recognized me, came up and stroked my hair and pinched my ass with inviting purrs.  I especially liked the cute, slight blonde with the shiniest, curly chest hairs I’d ever seen.

“ _ _Dawel__!” Chimia shouted.  “ _ _Clywed y gorchymyn eich arweinydd__.”  Did she just call her troops to line up in Welsch? About 24 __Kihobi__ formed 4 rows at military attention while Chimia proceeded to give instructions. “The Ianto Jones needs our help.  We will get the information to save the Ianto Jones, rescue the betrayer’s daughter, and stop the bad men.  __Eu deal__?”

“ _ _Deall gorchymyn, fy Tywysoges__!” they shouted in unison.

Another group came in the room with a large chest of weapons and camouflage clothing to replace their “work wear”.  With a surprised but grateful look on my face, I approached Chimia, “Princess?”  She nodded but in such a way that I understood that that was the end of that line of questioning.  “Why Welsh?”

She looked at me incredulously, “It is the language of the Ianto Jones.”  I guess it was a foolish question.

The __Kihobi__ army and I left at sunset to seek revenge for the Ianto Jones.

*******************************

__“He NEVER told us that part!” Aliyah said.  Sarah shook her head.  “The sly dog let us believe he rescued Abeer, killed Samonson, and destroyed the weapons all by himself.”_ _

__Sarah signed, “Expert at self-promotion.”  Aliyah chuckled.  Then Sarah motioned, “Move to the good part!”_ _

__“What do you mean?  When he got to Jerusalem?”  Sarah nodded.  Aliyah looked through the next few pages which described the details of the rescue and Jack’s flight back to Earth.  “Here we go.  He says he found our note . . . .”_ _

******************************

Chapter Five: To Have and to Hold Until Death

If I hadn’t known Aliyah for as long as I had, I would have thought the idea of bringing Ianto to Ein Gedi Beach was a sick joke.  Instead, I saw it for what it was – another one of her attempts to use that theological psychology on me.  Like most mothers (or mother-types), she never knew when to leave well enough alone.  Still, standing here today, I wonder if things would have worked out better if I hadn’t been such a coward.

When I got to the Shalem Institute, the cover for Torchwood Jerusalem, one of Aliyah’s assistants told me she got my message that I would be arriving in a few days and gave me the note she left.  “Come to the Dead Sea.  He’s recovered but miserable.”  I have to admit the note made me smile for I liked the idea of him missing me.  While I changed clothes to leave and meet them, I remembered his tentative greeting when I came back from my visit with The Doctor – he tried to be formal, distant at first but that veneer barely held back his real feelings.  On the bus ride to the resort, I wondered which Ianto I would welcome me back this time – the valet or the argent lover.

I hadn’t expected serious a marriage proposal.

We were at the resort hotel room.  He presented it to me in that earnest, sensible tone that only a Brit can.  It was as if getting married was the only right thing to do under the current circumstances.  He said something like, “We get along, fighting aliens and all.  We enjoy each other’s time but know when to leave the other alone.”  Then he babbled a list of other rationale, ending with “Men do it all the time now and it is legal in Israel and recognized in the U.K.”  Geeze, next he was going to tell me that that would make me eligible to get his pension when he died!

Admittedly, at first I hoped he was joking but as soon as the reality of his offer sank in, I became angry – not at him but myself, albeit he didn’t know it.  And that’s when I began to make a mess of things.

“You know I’ve been with many people in my life.  Some relationships have been longer than others,” I said dismissively, immediately realizing how cruel my tone sounded but uncertain how to take it back.

Then it came, predictably – the meek servant. I hated that tone.  It made him sound defeated and cheap.  And I especially hated how it was me that put him that position.  “I’m sorry,” he said, “I just thought . . . honestly, it was something that just came over me.”  Now he was lying and we both knew it.  Next, he’ll start straightening his clothes.  “Listen, just forget I said anything.”  There he goes fixing his tie.  “There is a café downstairs in the hotel I haven’t checked out. I’m hoping to find some new blends.”

Frankly, his frantic attempts to recover his composure through tie application was comical and watching it made me giggle a bit which released some of my fear.  “Ianto?” I called him back as he was about to storm out of the room, like a retired diva. 

“What?” he answered angrily.

“I didn’t say no,” I gulped down some liquid courage from the mini bar next to the bed.  I walked over to him and hugged him reassuringly from behind and kissed the back of his head, “But I don’t do rings.  They throw off my aim.”

This sufficiently distracted him and I found telling him the “Adventures of Captain Jack Harkness” version of how the Machla were stopped lent relief from the earlier drama.  But we didn’t make love, which is unusual considering we had not seen one another in weeks.  Instead, he suggested returning to Jerusalem and dinner there with Aliyah and her wife Sarah. 

Sarah, a Swedish Jew, was a security officer from the Mossad, Israel’s version of MI5.  No one has ever mentioned her last name.  Allegedly she could talk but chose not to.  She had been assigned to Torchwood as a liaison and bodyguard, as the Mossad leadership didn’t trust Aliyah unlike other government factions.  Sarah was to watch Aliyah and her family to gather intelligence but got to close to her work.  Hidden from Aliyah, who was married to her husband Abram another Torchwood leader at the time, the “bodyguard” had fallen in love with her.   When Abram died at the Twin Towers during 9/11, Sarah was the one to help her pick up the pieces.  Although she never liked me and I always thought Abram a good man, Sarah was the best thing that had happened to Aliyah.  They were best friends, lovers, confidantes, and made one hellva team together.  Aliyah always seemed to have a knack when it came to finding partners – likely being born to immortality makes living with it easier.  I am sure that the time Ianto spent here watching the two together made him think our marriage was similarly possible and could work just as easily as theirs.  I don’t blame him.  Sometimes I’m jealous of them too.

During dinner, he was cordial but held a formal politeness during what was a simply delicious meal at, Sheyan in Rechavia, an upscale Jerusalem neighborhood located between the city center and a historically affluent Arab Christian community.  Unknown to Ianto, I had visited this now converted Dutch Windmill that dated back to the 1870s before.  It had once serviced as part of a Greek Orthodox Church building then the Dutch Consultant.  It was abandoned when Eli and I discovered it.  While it was abandoned during the early 80s, we sometimes snuck inside and made love amidst the history and the dust.  When Eli died, I bought it, eventually giving it to the present owner so it could be used for  something lasting.  To suggest this particular spot for dinner was another of Aliyah’s hints.  Luckily, she made no reference to my past here during the meal.

Dinner ended early and affably as it ran.  Aliyah apologized for having to end the night early but she had a Friday evening service to prepare for and Sarah wanted to finish overseeing the upgrades on the security systems.  Ianto and I were shown to our rooms. The guest accommodations at Torchwood Jerusalem would put most 4 star hotels to shame, as they acted more as apartments than rooms.  This area didn’t house captured aliens, as our Torchwood often did, but delegations from far off planets.  Aliyah was somewhat of an intergalactic diplomat, as the Israelis served as the Earth’s delegation and embassy to the universe – particularly after the disasters the American’s had made with their work at Roswell.  It was one of the top secret reasons the American’s protected the tiny nation and the rest of the world reluctantly went along with it, much to the Palestinians chagrin.  

Typically, my charm melts an angry heart and what charm doesn’t cure, a nice shag will inveigle.  Not this time.  Ianto went through the motions efficiently, got me off, and promptly left the room when I feigned sleep.  After I heard the door latch click, I opened my eyes and sat up.  I could go after him or I could find out what Aliyah was playing at.  I decided on the latter.

I found her in her office leaning over a stack of books.  “Tomorrow’s __parasha__ , biblical portion for the week, __Vayishlach__ , Genesis 32:4-36:43,” she said without looking away from her pile.  “It is the moment the Jewish people acquired its name. Nothing could have been more unexpected or mysterious. Jacob is about to meet the brother he had not seen for 22 years - Esau, the man who had once vowed to kill him. Alone and afraid at the dead of night, he is assaulted by an unnamed stranger. They wrestle. Time passes. Dawn is about to break . . . “

“Aliyah, I need to talk to you,“ I declared sternly.

“Interrupting?” she said looking up at me with her eyeglass down on her nose like an old Oxford professor.  “You’re interrupting while I am trying to tell you this important story?”  She shook her head at me.

I hate when she gets preachy with me because . . . .”Aliyah, what are you going on about?”

Ignoring me, she continues, “Then the man said, ‘Let me go, for it is daybreak.’  But Jacob replied, ‘I will not let you go until you bless me.’  The man asked him, ‘What is your name?’  ‘Jacob,’ he answered.  Then the man said, ‘Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with G-d and with men and have overcome.’”

“Aliyah!” I’m nearly shouting.

She ignored me, “So the people Israel acquired its name, surely the strangest and most haunting in all the religious experience of mankind.”  She took her glasses off and put them atop of her books then closed the nearby laptop. 

“I didn’t come here for a religion lesson, rabbi,” I said.

“Even though you urgently need one,” she replied.

“Ah, great!  Really, Aliyah, what are you playing at?” I approached her in a way that would have seemed menacing to anyone else.  “I don’t remember your G-d, ****your faith**** being much of a help to your people during the Holocaust or the thousands of pogroms that preceded it!”  A low blow.

She sighed, came around the desk and leaned against it.  She smiled that smile good mothers get when a child is being petulant.  “Religion, faith, spirituality - these words conjure up many ideas and associations: peace, serenity, inwardness, meditation, calm, acceptance, bliss. Often faith has been conceived as an alternative reality, a "haven in a heartless world," an escape from the strife and conflict of everyday life. There is much to be said for this idea. But it is not Judaism.”

She turned to her right slightly and retrieved something from a small wooden box.  When she turned back, she continued, “Judaism is not an escape from the world but an engagement with the world. It is not ‘the opium of the people,’ as Karl Marx once called religion. It does not anaesthetize us to the pains and apparent injustices of life. It does not reconcile us to suffering. It asks us to play our part in the most daunting undertaking ever asked by G-d of mankind: to construct relationships, communities, and ultimately a society, that will become homes for the Divine presence. And that means wrestling with G-d and with men and refusing to give up or despair.”

“Whatever!” I was nothing if not stubborn.

She briefly looked at the ground to hide her smirk.  “Do you remember what day this is?”  I did and we both knew it but she said it for me, “It’s Eli’s __yahrzeit__ , the anniversary of his death.”

I hate when she gets preachy with me because when she does, she’s right.

“Wrestling with G-d: that is what Moses and the prophets did. They said, in effect: G-d, your demands are great but we human beings are small. We try, but often we fail. We make mistakes. We have moments of weakness. You are right: we have much to feel bad about in our lives. But we are your children. You made us. You chose us. So forgive us. And G-d forgives. Judaism is a religion of repentance and confession, but it is not a religion of guilt.”  She opened my hand and put the small stones she retrieved from the wooden box in my palm then wrapped my fingers around them.  Still holding my closed fist, she finished, “You will need these at the grave site.  I am sure you can still find it.”  She turned on her heels, went back to her desk, picked up her glasses and returned to her reading.  I was dismissed.

I turned to leave realizing that I was wiser even though my questions hadn’t been answered but before I left the room she reminded me, to “take a kippot from the bin outside the sanctuary door before you go.  I won’t have you going to the grounds without your head covered!”

“Yes, mommy dearest!” I called back, heading in the direction of the bin.  I could feel her smiling as I left the building.

*********************************

Chapter Six:  The Truth that Binds You

Being the naughty boy that I am, I did not go straight to Har HaMenuchot cemetery, where Eli was buried.  Instead, I returned to the suite.  I decided to go in the morning, before Ianto got up.  Sulking for him usually takes most of the night and he still had not returned.  Thus, he was likely to sleep in.  I reckoned I could get up early, go to the cemetery, say __kaddish__ , the Jewish pray for the dead, and get back before he got up.  I hadn’t counted on my lingering as I did at the gravesite nor his lucky research. 

Telling him about Eli and I was remarkably easy.  We must have sat on the grounds of that gravesite for hours.  Ianto is a good listener, even when what you’re saying makes him uncomfortable.  It is one of his charms, at least for me.  I often wonder how much I can unburden on him before even he can’t forgive me.  But while I was talking and he was listening, things between us seemed more and more possible.  I had married many a woman and I like women, a lot, no matter the species or planet. The fact that they can give birth, a little sparkle in them can grow into a living independent creature just does something to me.  But unfortunately, my immortality always complicates things.  They begin to worry about how they are going to explain things to the child – explain how daddy doesn’t get old but mommy does.  This leads to arguments and distancing.  Usually I just leave.  How many of my children have I watched grow up from afar – watching them from a distance at playgrounds, football fields, graduations and the odd wedding or two, labeled as some distant cousin or family friend.  I’ve even been to a few funerals.  I truly understand the sorrow a parent feels when she or he outlives their children – somehow it just doesn’t seem right.  I couldn’t do that again.  I can’t face having more children.

It’s different with men.  For most species, the males don’t bare the children and where homosexual relations are allowed or tolerated, they are not expected nor required to adopt.  Humans are a rare exception but it is still not common for two men to consider themselves family enough, particularly if there are pets in the home.  And truth be told, despite what I overheard Tosh once say to the rest about me (“He’ll shag anything as long as it’s gorgeous!), I share more of an emotional attraction to males.  Unfortunately, most of this planet’s history has been sickened by one form of homophobia or another.  Even during the Greek and Roman Empires, when “male love” was supposedly celebrated, their actions were at best enslavement and at worst pedophilia.  Thus, most of my male lovers insisted on absolute anonymity - they would be completely cruel toward me in public during the day but all the while screamed my name and begged for more as I plowed their asses rightly at night.  I once was even shagging a couple, man and woman, who were engaged to be married.  Neither one knew I slept with the other - we were just all good friends - but I was angling to make it an arrangement once vows were taken.  Shortly before the wedding, they both broke it off with me.  When she found out he had been with me, she confronted him with it.  The papers called it a murder-suicide.  I called it stupid.

But telling Ianto about me and Eli, about the wedding we had on the beach at the Dead Sea, under the __chuppa__ , the wedding canopy, made me wonder for the first time in a long time whether or not I could try it again.  Ianto was right.  It was all quite elementary.  It was nice to have someone take care of me, as much as I hate to admit it.  And he kept my shirts nicely starched, as Aliyah later reminded me.  So, when we returned to the Institute, instead of waiting for an afternoon coffee, we went straight to our guest suite.

There is nothing like make-up sex.  If I had known a simple marriage proposal would make him so amorous, I would have come to this conclusion sooner.  He practically tore my clothes off before we got to the bed.  This was a different Ianto than the previous day.  He was “all in”, so to speak.  Trust me, I ain’t complaining.

It started with us casually making out on the bed, naked, the warm late afternoon breeze coming off the balcony caressing our skin.  I had slowed down his amore from when we entered the room, reminding him that we should enjoy every moment left in Jerusalem as we needed to head back to Cardiff tomorrow evening and Aliyah expected us at Saturday morning services before we left. 

He was gently kissing my chest when he suddenly sat up and declared, “Oh, I almost forgot!” He jumped out the bed and went over to the amour where he took out a bag.  “I got it while you were gone.  I didn’t have a chance to wrap it, though.”  He handed me a medium size, brown paper bag.

I tentatively opened the page.  Ianto is known for his “research” skills.  He can make the most mundane find seem like an archeological discovery.  And true to self, this was no exception.  Inside the bag was  a pamphlet and a large, silver ring.  “Ianto!  Really?”   This was a real laugh, “How To Wear A Cock Ring” was the pamphlet’s title.  I swear, sometimes I think the man believes I was born only a hundred years ago!  It reminds me of the time he brought me “The Joy of Gay Sex”, figuring that ignorance of gay sex was the reason I hadn’t slept with him.   Slyly, with a feigned look of disappointment on my face, I said, “Are you trying to say that I am not lasting long enough in bed?”

“No, no!” he replied.  “I was bored and took a trip to Gan Hayir.”

“In Tel Aviv?”

“Yeah!  It has great shopping there,” he got a guilty look on his face.  “Martha and the doctors here said I was good to go as long as I took it easy.  Sorry but I got really bored, being cooped up in bed all that time.”

“Gan Hayir has the best public toilets in the city,” I said teasingly.

“Jack, really!” he replied.  “I found this brilliant shop.”  He pointed at the pamphlet, “It says here that it increases sensitivity.”  He moved a switch on the device and it started humming, “And this type vibrates too!”  He could be so sweetly naïve.

I took the device and pamphlet from him and put both on the nightstand, “I think we’ll save this for when the Viagra no longer works for you.”  I kissed his forehead, “Right now though, I think I’ll take things just as they are.”

Predictably, we were late for morning services.

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It was the flight back to Cardiff where everything started to go wrong.  Ianto’s a planner.  He wants to arrange everything down to detail (he did Gwen’s original and then improvised wedding after all).  All he talked about on the flight was wedding plans.  He must of texted Aliyah a hundred times asking questions about formal Jewish wedding ceremonies – she was the only person he could even conceive of conducting the ceremony!  It wasn’t so much that he talked with me about it incessantly, as he knew better than that, but he was busy doing nothing but that during the entire five hour flight home.

When we got back to work, I was able to convince him to wait to tell Gwen.  Reluctantly, he agreed that we needed to finish the present mission first.  But then at every chance he got, he pointed out how we appeared to others.  “Do we seem like a couple?” was a regular question.  By this time he was truly annoying me.  I know I started being snarky with him.  Then, when the events with the children started, he mentioned having kids.

“This must be frightening for the parents.  I don’t know what I would do if our kids ever did something like this.”  I nearly lost my mind but Gwen came into the room.  Seeing my grandson and daughter only made things worse.  Everything was coming back.  All the doubts, all the memories of all the crap I’d done and was certain I would do in the future just to keep this fucking planet from being blown into bits of space dust came back to me.  I was ambivalent all over again – uncertain if I was doing what was best for me or him.  I decided to break things off.

Then the Hub blew up.

Then I got captured and incased in cement.

Then he save me.

Then I let the 456 kill him.

And all the while he lay dying, begging me not to forget him, all I could think about was he was abandoning me.  Someone was abandoning me.  I was being left behind again.  I was alone again.  People I loved, from my parents ‘til now – everyone left me.  Left me alone.  They went away into the darkness I know death to really be.  But at least theirs was permanent, done.  My darkness, I carried it with me everyday of this shit of an existence.  Aliyah says her faith helps her face the darkness, the constant loss of loved ones as their time ends and hers continues.  But she was born an immortal.  I wasn’t.  I had always anticipated dying like everyone else – yeah, albeit later rather than sooner and still this good looking of course, but dying nevertheless.

And I was so busy feeling sorry for myself I failed to do the one thing that probably would have brought a moment’s comfort to a dying man.  How much would it have cost me to stop being my usual self-centered self and consider someone else’s misery instead drowning in my own?  Mine could have waited after all - I have all eternity to feel shitty.  I could have said, “I love you” to a dying man and leave him thinking that it all was worth it and I wouldn’t forget him.  But I didn’t, now did I?

I guess I add this to the list of shitty things I’ve done.  At the point I’m writing this, I’m not sure what is worse – dooming 100 orphaned children to an existence as a living crack pipes, murdering my grandson, or leaving a dying man as if he was just another one of my shags.  I don’t need a Christian damnation; I’m living it.

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Chapter Seven: Beginning the Resurrection

__“Shit.”  Reading those last lines, Aliyah realized she was already too late.  Yet, she and Sarah dashed to the bar anyway._ _

__The cloyed saloon keep somehow knew what they wanted.  “Room 211,” was all he said._ _

__The two women went through the creaking door that led through the filthy hall, up unsteady stairs to 211.  Sarah didn’t have to force the room’s door as it was unlocked and slightly open.  They halted briefly before entering slowly, hearing music coming from within the room._ _

Took a look down a westbound road,

Right away I made my choice

Headed out to my big two-wheeler,

I was tired of my own voice

Took a bead on the northern plains

And just rolled that power on

 

 _ _If it had been anyone else, they would have found a body swinging from the rafters.  They walked around the dirty, vacant room__.  __Little was left that indicated someone had ever been there, except dust shifted from one spot and piled to another.__

Twelve hours out of mackinaw city

Stopped in a bar to have a brew

Met a girl and we had a few drinks

And I told her what I'd decided to do

She looked out the window a long long moment

Then she looked into my eyes

She didn't have to say a thing,

I knew what she was thinkin'

 

__Sarah looked out the open window.  She let out a loud sound to call Aliyah’s attention.  From it, they saw Jack riding away into the dense forest on what looked like some kind of horse.  “Damn”, Aliyah said, turning away from the window.  From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of an envelope atop the unkempt bed.  She opened and read the note inside:  “Tell Gwen and Rhys not to worry.”_ _

Roll, roll me away,

Won't you roll me away tonight

I too am lost, I feel double-crossed

And I'm sick of what's wrong and what's right

We never even said a word,

We just walked out and got on that bike

And we rolled

And we rolled clean out of sight

 

__Sarah was looking out the window using military grade, nighttime binoculars that could see through much of the brush.  She sighted the moving animal in the distance and made a yelp, again to get Aliyah’s attention.  Aliyah looked up and Sarah used formal sign language to say.  “There is a strange looking woman with him.”_ _

__Aliyah nodded, assuming it was Chimia.  Aliyah continued to read the note: “Please forgive me.”  This made Aliyah cry.  She deeply loved her friend._ _

We rolled across the high plains

Deep into the mountains

Felt so good to me

Finally feelin' free

 

__Sarah, noticing her wife’s tears, came over and hugged her.  She looked at Aliyah and said in a clear, husky voice, “Do you think he’ll stay with her.”_ _

 

Somewhere along a high road

The air began to turn cold

She said she missed her home

I headed on alone

 

__“She won’t stay with him,” answer Aliyah.  “She’s trying to help heal him just like the rest of us.”_ _

 

Stood alone on a mountain top,

Starin' out at the great divide

I could go east, I could go west,

It was all up to me to decide

Just then I saw a young hawk flyin'

And my soul began to rise

And pretty soon

My heart was singin'

 

__Sarah looked throughout the room fruitlessly for some clue pointing to where Jack would go next.  Despondent, Aliyah walked over to the sound system to turn it off._ _

Roll, roll me away,

I'm gonna roll me away tonight

Gotta keep rollin, gotta keep ridin',

Keep searchin' till I find what's right

And as the sunset faded

I spoke to the faintest first starlight

And I said next time

Next time

We'll get it right

 

__The room became suddenly silent and hollow.  Aliyah, felt dejected – she had failed one of her flock.  Somehow she hadn’t helped and, maybe, had caused harm.  But just as she turned to walk away, she recognized a torn piece of paper atop of the receiver.  She grabbed it and brought it over to Sarah.  “It’s a piece from one of my sermons.”  She read it and realized, “It’s the sermon I gave the day Jack and Ianto came to services, before we took them to the airport.”  She described her conversation with Jack before he went to Eli’s gravesite.  “He must of printed this from the Institute’s website.”_ _

__Two paragraphs were bracketed:_ _

Jacob is not Abraham or Isaac. Abraham symbolizes faith as love. Abraham loved G-d so much he was willing to leave his land, home and father's house to follow him to an unknown land. He loved people so much that he treated passing strangers as if they were angels (the irony is: they were angels. Often people become what we see them as. Treat people like enemies and they become enemies. Treat them as friends and they become friends). Abraham dies "at a good age, old and satisfied." A life of love is serene. Abraham was serene.

Isaac is faith as fear, reverence, awe. He was the child who was nearly sacrificed. He remains the most shadowy of the patriarchs. His life was simple, his manner quiet, his demeanor undemonstrative. Often we find him doing exactly what his father did. His is faith as tradition, reverence for the past, continuity. Isaac was a bridge between the generations. Simple, self-contained, pure: that is Isaac.

__The next two paragraphs were highlighted:_ _

But Jacob is faith as struggle. Often his life seemed to be a matter of escaping one danger into another. He flees from his vengeful brother only to find himself at the mercy of deceptive Laban. He escapes from Laban only to encounter Esau marching to meet him with a force of four hundred men. He emerges from that meeting unscathed, only to be plunged into the drama of the conflict between Joseph and his other sons, which caused him great grief. Alone among the patriarchs, he dies in exile. Jacob wrestles, as his descendants - the children of Israel - continue to wrestle with a world that never seems to grant us peace.

Yet Jacob never gives up and is never defeated. He is the man whose greatest religious experiences occur when he is alone, at night, and far from home. Jacob wrestles with the angel of destiny and inner conflict and says, "I will not let you go until you bless me." That is how he rescues hope from catastrophe - as Jews have always done. Their darkest nights have always been preludes to their most creative dawns.

__Sarah asked, “Are you thinking he’ll really come back to Earth?”_ _

__Aliyah looked up from the paper and smiled confidently, “G-d, I hope so ‘cuz it’s gonna be awful quiet without him.”_ _

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Note: Aliyah’s extended speech to Jack in Chapter Seven and the words noted in the last chapter are direct quotations from Rabbi Jonathan Saks, Chief Rabbi of the United Kingdom in his d’var Torah (Torah Commentary) “Covenant and Conversation – __Vayishlach__ ”, December, 13 2008”.  To see the full commentary, go to <http://www.chiefrabbi.org/ReadArtical.aspx?id=1432>.

 

 

 


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